No pretty pictures.
No dogma. No clarity.
Nothing is finished. Everything is suffering. Suffering?
Loner. Beggar. Dimwit. Sinner.
Hit & Miss
The work is ongoing and never finished, a practice with slippery boundaries. Lingering like a vague memory, seemingly without a beginning or purpose. I’m chasing mist with a net
Occasionally an image forms in the outset but eventually the fog gets thicker and the formation disappears. From time to time, after years of rubbing my eyes and waving my arms around, it reappears and briefly comes into focus again. But this is rare.
Perfection is not the goal in this process. It is a ringing in the ear that turns into a song. A dance for one. It is a hit and miss.
Aim higher, they say, dive deep. Do more. With blurry eyes? Short of breath? How long can I stumble in the dark? What’s the aim?
Paradox
Without aim, the image evolves and deteriorates. It can easily mutate and if it sticks around too long it’s swallowed by entropy.
The frustrating part is that sometimes, after a lengthy intimate dance, I get rather attached to the image. With a great deal of tenderness, a bond develops between us. It’s good, beautiful and perhaps even complete, but I can’t stop. For some reason I continue to meddle, trying to see through it, pick at it, dissect it – till it crumbles. A beauty turns grotesque. An apple of Eden rotting to its core.
I have seen a pleasant portrait turn into a monster. Landscapes drown in muddy disillusion. Fresh fruit to decay. A loyal dog snapping its jaws. Each shift, a self-betrayal.
Darkness is not evil, but when it chokes the good, terror sets in. I begin to wonder about myself. Why “go fishing for a thousand monsters in the depths of my own soul”?
Self-doubt lingers. An ever-present itch. Strive, aim, evolve. I confront the shadow, peek into the light, and I get bored. Yes, bored. So I immediately plunge back into chaos. A cycle, endless and unforgiving.
Images talk
For the hundredth time I wake. While the mind goes rushing off, I split in half. I squint and see Godclit looking back. I take off the mask and slip through the hole. The space is dark and chilly. There are many strings with tiny lights at the end. Glittering hooks. An ocean of stars. The surface is made up of colours and shapes. There is magic below, i’m sure of it. I dive deep. It’s beautiful. I am a fish. My job is done and I wake up again, gasping for air. Possessed. Hook in the eye.
She stands on the shore and begins to speak, saying that I’ve been away too long. She tells me to hold her hand and I do. I’m aroused, never having felt such softness, such incredible warmth. We lay together and I suckle while she whispers… “you are not abandoned, I’m always here waiting’. We are both wet. She pulls the covers over us and I fall asleep again.
Milo
